Circle of Life
August 9, 2013—-
It seemed so obvious in this coolest of recent summers, but maybe I am a late bloomer.
I grew up on a cul-de-sac in West suburban Chicago.
It was the scene of a few joy rides, one no-parking situation during a Thanksgiving break party while my parents were away, and a couple of intense wiffle ball games with my younger brother.
A few weeks ago I took my Mother for a spin around the cul-de-sac court in her wheel chair.
She is not doing well.
The year-old twin granddaughters of Bill the Neighbor were in dual baby carriages in his front yard.
The circle of life.
As your parents grow older, and then very older, you try to embrace the moment. Every moment past and present.
Last Friday I took my Mom to the doctor. She is suffering from dementia, she is not eating and doesn’t get out of the house like she used to. She misses feeding the fleeting birds and tending to her rooted garden.
Going to the doctor has become a big deal for her, just as it was for me when I was a toddler. There is no end to the circle.
The sun seems to be setting earlier than usual on these early August evenings. But last Friday my Mother wore a snappy turquoise argyle sweater and bright red lipstick.
She looked sweet.
I think she enjoyed the attention she had given to everyone else for most of her 91 years.
I always take technical notes at my parent’s doctor’s appointments but this was the first time I made personal observations.
I had helped lift my Mother from her wheel chair on to the examination table. After a generous visit from her doctor, my Mother slowly leaned over. She extended each of her shaking hands to the doctor. Her long fingers are curled. They are the hands of a coal miner’s daughter, once so strong, now so thin and frail.
He held her hands as she asked, “Am I making progress?”
Her EKG was fine.
It was my heart that was breaking.
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